


mattina e momenti

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dual perspectives, Fluff, M/M, Pretentious Title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10071599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Tobio isn't sure why Yuutarou loves him so much; to Yuutarou, it's so obvious.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kakkoweeb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakkoweeb/gifts).



> To my giftee, thank you for asking for my life's work and my passion. Making these dweebs happy brings me no shortage of joy. I hope this brings you some joy, as well.

_It’s too early_ , Tobio marks as he clicks away at a patient report he readily admits he should’ve finished yesterday. Fortunately, the smell of cooking bacon urges him on as he finishes up the last of his backlogged paperwork.

A loud yawn makes Tobio’s fingers falter on the keys of his laptop. Looking up, his lips twitch when he sees Yuutarou stretching his long limbs above his head, a small sliver of his flat belly exposed underneath the hem of his well-worn undershirt. His husband has never been much of a morning person, yet every day Yuutarou wakes up at six sharp to make breakfast for them both.

More than once, Tobio has reminded Yuutarou that he doesn’t have to do this, but the answer is always the same. “Yeah, I do. Now shut up and drink your milk.”

Maybe he’ll ask what that means someday, but for the moment, Yuutarou is smiling to himself while humming an aimless tune and Tobio doesn’t want to spoil the moment.

 

* * *

 

“God, Kageyama, are you ever _not_ a jerk?” Yuutarou hisses, wincing at the feeling of old tape being ripped from his skin. “Ow! Watch it, will you?”

Tobio’s attention never wavers as he gently blows on the irritated area, and the relief is almost immediate for Yuutarou. He watches in morbid fascination as swift and deft hands apply a layer of pre-wrap (he can’t believe he forgot that part!) before a layer of precisely placed athletic tape swaths Yuutarou’s aching ankle. In less than five minutes, the entire process is finished, and a perfectly bound ankle is lowered to the ground, drawing a sigh of relief from Yuutarou.

“Thanks, Kageyama,” he murmurs barely loud enough to hear, even as his the rest of their teammates at Kitagawa Daiichi wrinkle their noses as their setter rejoins practice.

None of them hear the genuine gratitude, and Yuutarou is ashamed that he doesn’t say it again louder to make sure they do. Yet he does not because he isn’t ready to be grateful to the King of the Court for all to see. _And it isn’t as if Kageyama cares anyway,_ Yuutarou thinks as he chooses not to see the way Tobio’s head droops as he wades into a sea of malevolent glares.

 

* * *

 

The laptop claps shut as soon as Tobio hears the plate placed on the table in front of him. He allows a sigh of contentment before rattling off a blessing and then all but inhaling the delicious pile of calories he knows he shouldn’t eat as often as he does, but Yuutarou makes them best and he can’t exactly turn down well-done pork of any ilk. He’s nearly breathless by the time he finishes, but he will never forget to say his usual, “Thank you.”

Yuutarou, still halfway through his own breakfast, reaches across the table to cover Tobio’s hand resting on the lid of his laptop, and gives it a light squeeze. “Anytime.” His smile makes Tobio’s heart flutter in his chest, and he knows his cheeks are red as he ducks to hide his face behind the screen. He doesn’t know why he’s still embarrassed by Yuutarou’s displays of affection; maybe it’s because they are still new at this romance thing. Maybe because they haven’t always clicked like they do now.

But as much as the idea haunts Tobio that he might make Yuutarou hate him again someday, he intends to savor every minute that they’re together in this blissful cocoon of morning.

 

_* * *_

 

“And I'm lost,” Yuutarou mutters to himself as he looks out over the massive college campus, littered with buildings that all look the same as the one next door. Bouncing on the balls if his feet, he looks at his watch and gulps audibly when he sees that his first class starts in less than ten minutes, and he can't even find the right building.

He feels the timetable in his hand crinkle and jumps when he sees a hand that isn't his take the paper from him. Yuutarou looks to his left to see the last person on earth he had expected to find perusing his schedule with eyes narrowed in concentration.

They're both too old for their old petty squabbles to carry on into college, but Yuutarou can't say he would ever intentionally seek out his old frenemy, especially to ask him for help.

But Tobio hands him back his course schedule and says, “Come on. You're not too far.”

Yuutarou gawks but does as he's told and, within a couple of minutes, he is standing in front of the Namida building, where he will kick off his college career with his mortal enemy - math. He turns around to thank Tobio, but he is already meters away.

“Hey, won't you be late?” Yuutarou calls stupidly, gratitude still so reluctant on his tongue.

“Probably.” Tobio turns and shrugs. “But you needed help. Why wouldn't I help?”

When he walks away, Yuutarou wonders where this new Kageyama Tobio had hidden the old one. Wonders whether he can close the huge distance Yuutarou himself had put between them what feels like forever ago.

Wonders if this Tobio is the real one, after all.

 

* * *

 

Yuutarou drapes his arms over Tobio’s shoulders and rests his chin on the crown of his head. “Your bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”

Tobio looks down at Yuutarou’s hands, frowning at an angry red mark on the side of his finger. “Did you burn yourself?”

“A little.” Yuutarou sighs. “You don't have to take care of everything, you know.”

He shrugs as he leans back into Yuutarou’s arms. “I know, but it's you.” His eyes flutter closed and he groans, not quite ready to rush himself out the door yet. Yuutarou smells like breakfast and body wash, a heady mix for Tobio’s tired brain.

Yuutarou inhales sharply and pulls Tobio in tighter.

Tobio wonders how mad his receptionist will be if he's an hour or so late on a Tuesday morning, and he has a feeling he's going to find out anyway as Yuutarou’s lips start a warm lazy trail down the slope of his neck. Sleepy fingers sloppily tug his tie loose and pluck away at the line of buttons on his plain white shirt, unveiling a band of pale flesh for Yuutarou’s perusal. Tobio groans as roughened fingers brush against his skin, making him arch back in the oh-so-familiar touch that never seems to lose its power over him.

For a moment, he laments the idea that he’ll never be able to make Yuutarou be late his job at the YMCA, considering the four hour discrepancy in when they start work, but Tobio will gladly endure it just so long as Yuutarou doesn’t stop doing —

A desperate cry tears from Tobio’s throat as Yuutarou finds one of his most sensitive areas, and any thoughts whatsoever fall to the wayside as he is determined to return the favor.

 

* * *

 

Yuutarou’s fingers pull roughly on his hair as he looks down at the tire fire that is his math homework, and he moans as he contemplates hiding under the table and not coming out until the exam passes and he can finally rest his battered brain cells. He looks around at the rest of the university library, lamenting the lack of a Dumbass-Japanese dictionary amongst the sea of books that might help him read the lesson for the tenth time and actually understand it.

“Damn it,” he hisses as his forehead droops onto to the page, wishing he hadn’t put this assignment off for last. Instead, his eyes are swimming with numbers and letters that are blending together on the page like hellish soup.

However, Yuutarou nearly falls out of his chair when a hand touches his shoulder. The page from his calculus book sticks adamantly to his skin and tears as he bolts upright, the sound drawing a wince as it wrenches out. “Crap.” He peels off the page and slaps it back onto the book as if the force of it would reattach it, but the wrinkled remnant only sticks out awkwardly. “Oh, man.”

“My bad,” comes Tobio’s flat voice as he sits next to Yuutarou, poking at the battered book. He takes out a sheet of blank paper from his own notebook and, without another word, proceeds to scratch out the very same word problem that has been haunting Yuutarou for the past hour. When he’s done, he slides it over for Yuutarou’s perusal with the resting bitchface it’s taken years for him to learn is simply what Tobio looks like a majority of the time — and not because he’s an asshole.

Yuutarou gapes at the paper, seeing the logic unfold in front of him spelled out in abominable handwriting. “How did you know?”

Tobio shrugs. “I’m bad at a lot of things. Just not at math.” He scrapes his teeth on his bottom lip and clenches his fists on top of the table. “You’ve always been bad at math. And English.”

A faint blush tints Tobio’s cheeks as he averts his gaze, and a lot of things fall into place for Yuutarou. All these years spent wasting energy on hating Kageyama Tobio blinded him to more than one instance of Tobio showing that, while Yuutarou had given up on them, he never did. It all comes back to him — making sure Yuutarou’s ankle stayed in good shape after spraining it in practice after that fateful game, helping him find his classroom even at the risk of being late to his own, and now this.

Yuutarou gulps.

“I —” he scratches past a full throat, making him choke on a lot of things. Regret, shame, and maybe something else he can’t classify lead the pack.

Unable to put into words what he wants to say, Yuutarou takes a deep breath and crushes Tobio in a vice-like hug. The well-worn hoodie he buries his face in smells like the fabric softener from the vending machine at the campus laundry, and a little bit like the noodle cart near the library, and it makes Yuutarou choke a laugh. A lot of things have changed about Tobio, but this is one thing he remembers well.

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to say. He supposes he should be specific about what, but he can’t put them into words when he feels Tobio’s equally strong grip clutch him even tighter.

“So am I.”

Yuutarou hangs on for longer than he assumes to be socially acceptable before reeling back in his chair, short of breath despite not having stood up for hours. “So, did you just wait this whole time for me to fuck up my math homework so you could make a move?” Tobio’s face turns bright red, and Yuutarou has a niggling feeling that it might, indeed, have been the case.

Yet he takes Kageyama’s sheet of paper and claps it shut inside his book. “But I’m glad you did.”

Tobio straightens, though he’s still looking pointedly at the empty table across the room. Yuutarou chuckles past his own red face and bumps his shoulder into Tobio’s. “C’mon. I think we’ve both suffered enough. Let’s go get some food.”

With a nod, Tobio tucks his hands into his hoodie pockets and waits for Yuutarou to stuff his belongings into his backpack and lead the way. “I’m thinking noodles.”

There is a ghost of a smile on Tobio’s lips, but Yuutarou doesn’t think he’s seen anything quite so bright in a while.

 

* * *

 

Sweating and satisfied, Tobio rolls off the couch and fishes his tie from the cushions. Frantic hands button and re-button his shirtsleeves before they all manage to make it into the right holes. “I have to go,” he admits, brow scrunched with irritation. “Stupid job.”

Yuutarou slaps Tobio’s behind and chuckles. “Yeah, but having a roof over our heads is nice. Now get going before I make you take a sick day.” He pecks Tobio on the cheek, bringing a flood of warmth deep into Tobio’s belly.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” Tobio promises as he jams his laptop into its bag and sprints out the door. The chilly October air shocks him back into reality as he exits their apartment building, but even that is not enough to keep him from looking back up at their window on the second floor. Sometimes, he wonders what he did to deserve Yuutarou’s love and devotion, considering all he had done in their younger years to sabotage their relationship.

Yet as he raises his hand to hail a taxi and rattles off the address of his office to the driver, Tobio muses that he has it and will never stop doing his best to make sure he is worthy of it.


End file.
